"Jack" Series, Part 2: Jack Adjusts

3. A Question of Protocol

I’d known Tiran for many years before I took this job, of course, but back then I was living in a different city from him. Because he was so notorious, I always heard about him and the people around him through the media, and I drew my own conclusions from what I heard. Now that I was basically living with him, I had much more direct experience. And as I settled in, I was learning a lot about Tiran and how he lived his life.

As you’d expect, he was away a lot; he travelled, he visited, he took holidays. Sometimes I went with him, but often, especially at first, I took the occasion to go home for a while and catch up with my old friends. I’d leave the boys with some assignments and figure they couldn’t get into any more trouble as long as Tiran wasn’t there.

Tiran tended to travel alone. I was surprised at first that he didn’t bring Gabe with him, even when it might be useful to have a legal slave for his valet. Something in the way Gabe grew quiet and shy whenever talk of a new trip began made me guess that there was some history behind it.

Occasionally Rocky or Pat would join Tiran, when he was visiting old family friends, like his friend Roman or Paul’s brother Mike. But most of the time, Tiran went on his own and the others didn’t seem to know much about where he went or what he did. After a while, I realized it must have been like that when Tiran used to come and see me; it explained why none of the boys seemed to know anything about me before Tiran hired me. It wasn’t that Tiran was secretive – he just lived his life without thinking much about what it meant for the people around him.

It occurred to me gradually that Tiran’s estate was a form of sanctuary for him. It was like he had created a small village that was untouched by any of the insanity surrounding it. While he obviously enjoyed and indulged in the hedonistic, decadent life, he seemed careful to keep it off the estate. He didn’t party at home, he didn’t invite many people there, and the others followed his lead. As a result, life on the estate seemed surprisingly wholesome – aside from the multiple, open dom/sub and sexual relationships of course.

Besides Tiran’s mansion and my chalet, there were three separate houses in the main complex – Pat and Adele lived in one with their five mostly adopted children; Dusty and Karen St. Vincente and their son were in another; and Blackie and his occasional partner Callie had the third. They were all people Tiran had grown up with, long before his days of celebrity and infamy, and as far as I could tell, they were all now largely dependent on him. In each case, at least one party had some kind of submissive relationship to Tiran.

As for the rest of my charges, Gabe and Rusty lived at the mansion and Rocky stayed there whenever he was around, while Pat’s son Tom seemed to be in transition – he had moved out of his parents’ house into a small apartment in town, but was now spending most of his time with Paul Armstrong.

Bordering the main estate was another complex that Tiran also owned. This is where Paul lived, along with a handful of other families – more old friends, more d/s relationships, though none of them with Tiran. These people were more independent, as Paul had made clear on the first day. They seemed to be employed and self-supporting; Paul, for example, was one of the head managers of Tiran’s charitable foundation. (Tiran himself appeared to have no interest in good-works or, for that matter, any other area of work or business, but like all smart, rich people he surrounded himself with people who cared.)

The people in the neighbouring complex were regulars at the main estate but they had a slightly different air from the others – something like the difference between free people and slaves. It’s not like they looked down on Tiran’s brood, they just weren’t as deferential, and Tiran was certainly less peremptory with them. I hadn’t entirely made up my mind about this group – let alone sorted out all the various relationships between them – but I was keeping an open mind.

I also noticed that, between the two groups, there was a whole second generation of players. There were nine Hawkins kids in the secondary complex, mostly boys, ranging from older children to teens (I had to assume some were adopted, but it wasn’t widely discussed). These siblings, combined with the older Van Mertz boys and Paul St. Vincente, created a critical mass large enough to sustain their own relationships, dynamics and factions. But the two generations stayed mostly unconnected, with the exception of Tom Van Mertz, who seemed to keep a foot in both camps, and Barry, the oldest Hawkins boy, who I gathered had been Tiran’s lover at one point. I thought to myself that some of the kids might actually be straight, but, as with the older generation, everything appeared pretty fluid.

In any case, none of the adults seemed to work terribly hard, and life at the estate looked very comfortable. At first Tiran kept me so busy that I couldn’t tell what anyone else did with their days. But once things settled down I started to get more of a feel for how these people lived. Obviously, they were out a lot – visiting, shopping, or, in a few cases, working somewhere off the property. And a certain amount of socializing, drinking, and domestic intrigue went on within the estates too, of course. But there also seemed to be plenty of time for wholesome outdoor activities – swimming, playing tennis or shooting hoops, working out at the gym, or pulling together the odd game of pick-up football or soccer.

Tiran and I, like most west-coasters, spent much of our time outside when we were home. We’d often sit with our drinks and communication devices in deck chairs beside the genteel red-asphalt tennis courts. We never played – I wasn’t really interested in engaging with these people, and Tiran was essentially lazy – but for whatever reason, Tiran enjoyed watching. He liked to have whoever was on duty with him act as ball boy for the players, which was a big job since the courts weren’t fenced in. And of course, that was always in between keeping our glasses filled and Tiran’s ashtray empty.

While Tiran didn’t play much tennis, he often joined in with the casually organized group pick-up games. Football was a favourite. Both Rocky and Pat had apparently played on college teams, and Tiran in high school. For these games, I generally settled myself on a deck overlooking the large green side lawn that was used for the football field, to watch the two teams clash down below.

The games might sometimes be kept two-hand touch when the girls were playing, but most of the time they involved direct-contact tackles. Rocky and Tiran were usually on separate teams, and the interesting thing to me was that Rocky never pulled any punches in these games. I’d watch as Rocky went after Tiran repeatedly, slamming into him or pulling him to the ground with diving tackles. From where I sat the plays sometimes looked brutal, and Tiran seemed to be forever picking himself up and shaking himself off. By the end of the game he’d often be limping, his long lean body bruised and battered. Rocky took his share of abuse as well, of course, but with his solid, beefy build the toll never seemed as high. And none of it seemed to bother any of them.

I remember watching once as the game ended and everyone headed off the field, laughing and joking, throwing out taunts and challenges and threats of revenge. Tiran was moving slowly, hobbling even, but animatedly joining in the post-game debates, when Rocky – who had done most of the damage – came up behind him, looking amused and completely unrepentant. Tiran didn’t miss a beat, just threw an arm around Rocky to steady himself and continued the discussion.

Yet only the day before I’d seen him humble Rocky in front of a crowd, for no apparent reason. We had been sitting outside after lunch when Dusty began canvassing the group for someone to help him work on his boat that afternoon. At his turn, Rocky had shaken his head abstractedly, saying he already had plans, and returned to his conversation. Dusty, finding no luck with anyone, was looking disappointed, when Tiran coolly exhaled and told him, "Rocky will help you."

Rocky looked up in surprise and said, "What? No, I can’t -- I’m going to Amherst with Pat this afternoon."

Tiran smiled at him slightly. "No, you’re not," he said.

There was one of those sudden lulls in the general chatter that seem to happen when everyone recognizes a moment of tension at the same time. I watched with interest as the silence grew, and Rocky and Tiran locked eyes. Finally Rocky asked quietly, "Why me, boss?"

Tiran’s smile deepened slightly and he gave a light shrug. He didn’t answer, but I could hear it anyway: Because I can.

I saw Rocky’s expression change gradually, before he glanced at Pat with a quirked eyebrow and said, "Sorry, Patty, I’ve been corrected." Then he nodded at Dusty and added calmly, "I’ll meet you at the harbour at three."

Tiran turned away but I didn’t miss the small look of satisfaction that crossed his face. Rocky resumed his conversation as well; only, as he chatted, he got off his chair and lowered himself to sit on the floor at Tiran’s feet. No doubt to help keep himself in the right headspace while Tiran was in a capricious mood. I recognized the technique, and found it curious that Rocky had picked it up on his own.

It took a bit of effort to reconcile a scene like this with the football game the next day, although I came to realize that both were very typical of the way Tiran treated all of his boys, not just Rocky. Most of the time he was charming, easy-going and charismatic; everyone's best friend. But the benevolent good nature was punctuated with apparently random moments of extreme authority, when, without warning, he would become demanding, controlling, imperious, expecting instant obedience. When I first arrived, I had made allowances for Tiran’s careless control of his boys on the grounds that he wasn’t a trained dom. But now I was starting to recognize that what he lacked in rigour and discipline he more than made up for in sheer power tripping. And it was beginning to occur to me that for the boys, life under Tiran’s command might not be the walk in the park I had taken it for.


**********


One day Tiran and I were down by the beach, kicking back as some of the others splashed in the water and tossed a Frisbee around. Tiran was half-asleep in his chair, and I was absorbed with my tablet, reviewing footage of the daily workout I’d assigned Rocky. I guess a stray Frisbee toss was heading in my direction and Gabe, wanting to warn me, called out, "Mr Obernikoch!"

I leaned out of the way, the errant Frisbee was retrieved, and Tiran opened one eye languidly to look at me. "How come they call you that, anyway?" he asked. "Is that how you should be addressed?"

I glanced at him in surprise. To say the truth, I’d never really thought about what they called me – it seemed respectful enough, and most of the time they used "sir" anyway. "I dunno," I said, shrugging. "I guess I always thought you told them to call me that."

Both of Tiran’s eyes were open now, and he pushed his sunglasses up on his head. Blackie, who was on duty, came forward quickly to light a cigarette, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Gabe standing still, watching us as though he thought there might be trouble coming.

"Not my idea," Tiran said firmly. He looked over at Gabe sharply. "Where did you get that from, Sol?"

Gabe hesitated for a moment as though he had to think about the answer. "Nowhere, master. I think we … we just thought it was a polite way to address your friend."

Tiran frowned. "My friend? That’s not what you call my other friends. Anyway, the point is what Jack is to you, not to me."

"Yes, sir," Gabe agreed. "I’m very sorry, Mr. --- sir," he added, to me. "We didn’t mean to be disrespectful. I guess we don’t – we didn’t really have any experience to go on."

I looked out at the boys scattered around the beach. They had all stopped now, and were listening to the discussion attentively.

Tiran sounded a little irritable. "It’s not rocket science, Sol. You all find plenty of things to call me, without saying ‘Mr. Marx’."

Gabe was looking doubtful. I didn’t see any of the others jumping to his defence either. Rocky, I noticed, was standing still and keeping his head down, as he usually did when a conversation involved me.

"I call you ‘master’, sir," Gabe said tentatively, to Tiran.

"So what’s wrong with that? Did you ever ask Jack what he wanted to be called?"

"No, sir …" Gabe was looking at me nervously.

" ‘Master’ is fine, Sol," I told him.

I went back to the tablet, thinking that was the end of it, but something still wasn’t right. When I looked back up, I saw that the boys hadn’t moved and a few were exchanging quick looks. For the first time since I’d arrived, I felt something that could have been resistance from the boys. I glanced over at Tiran, who was starting to look seriously pissed.

"What is it, Solomon?" I asked.

Gabe looked like he was feeling sick to his stomach. He said faintly, "But Tiran is my master, sir."

I stared at him for a moment, not understanding. Then I raised an eyebrow and looked over at Tiran, who seemed to be holding himself in check with difficulty. "What are you trying to say?" he asked Gabe, his voice low and ominous.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Rocky lift his head and perhaps start to speak, then stop, abruptly.

Gabe was still looking miserable. "I – I’m sorry, master. I mean … I mean …" He seemed to be physically unable to continue.

After a moment it was Dusty who stepped forward, manfully. "Tiran, he means – we mean – that we can only have one master. We – we totally recognize Mr. Obernikoch’s authority over us, of course, but … but he’s not our master, sir. You are."

Tiran heard him out, his expression growing blacker. Dusty could see the trouble brewing; he licked his lips and added less confidently, "I’m sure there’s another way we could address Mr. Obernikoch that meets with his approval and is … is sufficiently respectful. Sir." He nodded at me at the end and then his eyes flitted back to Tiran, nervously.

I sat back and waited for Tiran; he was obviously about to explode. "Am I hearing you right?" he said finally, slowly. He looked around the beach. By this time, everyone who didn’t belong to Tiran had begun to slip away, and everyone who did was sliding down to their knees.

Tiran sat up straight in his chair and bent a fierce gaze on the cowering creatures in front of him. "You’re telling me you don’t want to address Jack appropriately because of how it reflects on me? You can’t call him ‘master’ because you only have room for one and it’s not him?" His voice picked up strength as he began hitting his stride. "Well, let me tell you all something, that it seems you don’t already know." Tiran was on his feet now, circling the figures in the sand. "Apparently I haven’t made myself clear before. Apparently I haven’t been explicit enough about this so let me be one hundred per cent clear now. Jack is ME. He represents me. He IS me. You treat him like you treat me. Any insult to him is an insult to me. Anything you would do for me, you will do for him. No exceptions." He continued to stalk across the beach, stopping to glower down at first one person, then another. "Is there anything -- at all -- unclear about that?"

I was watching Tiran with amusement from my chair. It was so rare to see him like this – masterful and commanding, towering with authority over his subjects. This wasn’t one of those small, random acts of power tripping; it was a full-on display of dominance. I found it entertaining to watch. And again, I felt a tiny twinge of sympathy for my charges.

From the boys’ reactions, I could see that moments like this, while rare, were not unheard of. They seemed to know what to do; they kept their heads down and held themselves still while Tiran spoke, but followed his words intently. When he stopped speaking, ending with what I took for a rhetorical question, heads began nodding and timid voices responded immediately, filling the air with quiet "No, sir"s and "Thank you, sir"s.

Tiran paused, surveying the compliant bodies around him. He seemed somewhat pacified, and his powerful bearing subsided gradually. "Then I don’t see why you’d have any trouble referring to him as ‘master’," he concluded pointedly, walking slowly back to his chair. With his back to the boys, he gave me a self-satisfied smile, then sat down, pulling his sunglasses back over his eyes and reaching for his drink. "All yours, Jackie," he murmured smugly.

Well, I didn’t take over at the time; I had enjoyed Tiran’s performance too much and didn’t want to ruin the moment. I figured I had ample opportunity to follow-up at the next Monday meeting, when a couple of people who didn’t happen to be on the beach would be there as well; and besides, anticipation was half the fun. So I just surveyed the boys and said, "We’ll talk about this later."


**********


Sure enough when Monday morning came around, there was a noticeable buzz of excitement in the air. I guess the boys must have had the same thought as I did about the meeting. No one had said anything about it to me in the interim, though I noticed I was always carefully addressed as "sir".

The excitement must have been catching, because I found myself in a good mood as I walked into the board room. "Good morning, boys," I said, almost cheerfully.

They were waiting as usual, on the floor, on their knees – they had developed some stamina by now. Rocky had taken to greeting me with his forehead pressed to the floor, which I approved of. This morning, Gabe was in the same position – I guess he was really worried about his hint of defiance on the beach. I walked over and put my foot in front of Gabe by way of forgiveness, and he kissed it immediately. A born slave, I’m telling you. I walked back to the front of the room, hoping Rocky had taken note.

"So," I said, sitting down. I had thought about leaving this discussion to the end of the meeting but it was obvious that no one would concentrate until it was resolved. I glanced at Tom and Pat, the two who had not been on the beach that day. "You guys get filled in?"

"Yes, sir," they both said, nodding solemnly.

I looked around the room, debating a little. Everyone was watching me; even Gabe and Rocky had their heads up now. "Anyone have anything they want to say about that little scene last week?"

Gabe took a quick, choking breath. "Please, sir … may I tell you how sorry I am to have suggested in any way that I might be unwilling to obey your order or – or follow your direction?"

I laughed a little. "Don’t worry, Sol, you’re going to be getting extra attention this week to make up for that. And the rest of you –" I glanced around again, sternly. "You’ll be getting some too. I noticed you were all very willing to leave Gabe hanging out there alone. Nice teamwork. It’s not like you weren’t all thinking the same thing – is it?" I gave them each a hard stare and was pleased to see their eyes drop in response; all except Tom’s, which was fair enough since he hadn’t been there. "Except Dusty," I added, amusedly. "Who was happy to join Gabe in his defiance. I haven’t heard an apology from you yet, Vince."

Dusty looked up quickly. "I’m very sorry, sir. I had no business arguing with you or Tiran."

I nodded. "For the record," I added instructively, "Apologies should be made as soon after the infraction as possible. That’s what office hours are for. Why wait for a meeting?"

Gabe gave a tiny nod. "Thank you sir," he said softly. "I’ll remember next time."

The others nodded too, so I went on to the part I was curious about. "So what about Tiran’s little speech? Anyone have any trouble with what he said?"

In response, I got a roomful of shaking heads and quick "No sirs".

I pressed a little further. "Was it news to you? Anyone surprised to hear it?"

This time there was a little hesitation, and I saw a few of them glance at each other. Finally Dusty spoke up. Usually Gabe was the group spokesperson, but he was probably still feeling a little abashed. Rocky had learned not to speak to me unless spoken to, so I guess that left Dusty to fill the void today.

"I …. don’t think anyone was surprised, sir," Dusty began tentatively. "I’m – not sure we had thought it all through ourselves, but it made sense as soon as Tiran said it. I think we all understood that you act as his representative and that you’re his, his equal as far as we’re concerned. I hope that …" He paused nervously, looking like he might be afraid to continue. I nodded at him imperiously by way of encouragement. "I hope we’ve never given you reason to think we don’t fully accept – and respect your authority," he added, almost shyly.

I thought about that for a moment. If truth be told, I couldn’t think of a time when any of them had even appeared to challenge me – at least not to my face. Who knows what they said privately to Tiran.

"Not that I know of," I said pointedly.

Dusty got my meaning and looked like he wanted to respond defensively; but he checked himself and said simply, "Thank you, sir."

My gaze wandered through the room and settled on Rocky. "Van Valkenburg?" I asked, then added for clarity, "R."

Rocky answered instantly, his eyes meeting mine. "What Tiran said was exactly my understanding, sir. Though I appreciated him making his expectations so clear for us."

I raised my eyebrows thoughtfully. Seemed like there was no disagreement on that. Time to get to the heart of the matter, I figured.

"You’re all saying there’s no issue. Yet I haven’t heard a single person address me as master since then. So what’s the problem?"

There was a pause, and this time I could feel the tension. It seemed that they had talked amongst themselves and appointed a spokesperson on this topic, because they all turned expectantly to, of all people, Tom Van Mertz.

"Sir," Tom said after a moment, in his calm, measured tone with the currents of strength behind it. "We’re hoping to have a very small discussion with you about this. But we need to start by saying that your orders will be obeyed without question. We all look forward to following your instructions. We’re asking to talk about it but if you don’t wish to, then we ask only for your orders so that we can obey."

I watched him with interest, and nodded when he was finished. "Okay. We can discuss."

"Thank you, sir." Tom seemed faintly surprised that it was so easy, and for a moment he was at a loss. Then he remembered the rest of his speech, I guess. "Sir … I understand that Dusty expressed our misgivings about using the term ‘master’. I think he said – or he meant to say – that we see ‘master’ as a sort of – of absolute. A person can only have one master. I mean, there might be more than one person with authority or control over them, or who they answer to … but at the end of the day, only one person has the ultimate authority."

"That’s not consistent with what Tiran said," I objected. "His order was that my authority is equal to his."

"Yes, sir," Tom agreed. "Any direction or order you give us has the same authority as if Tiran gave it to us. We have no concerns with that. But if you gave us an order and Tiran contradicted it, wouldn’t we have to obey Tiran instead of you?"

My eyes narrowed a little. "That’s never happened, Van. Why are you looking for excuses?"

Tom half turned his head, as though trying not to agree with me. "I … I understand, sir. It would probably never happen. If you think we’re putting too fine a point on it, then please just tell us."

I was quiet for a moment, actually thinking about what he said. In a way, I found myself respecting the fierce loyalty to Tiran that made them willing to debate with me, risk further anger and punishment, just to ensure they were giving him his due. Wasn’t that as it should be?

In the pause, Blackie piped up quietly with a question. "Sir, may I ask … what do you do, as a Master, when someone shares their slave with you?"

I looked at him in surprise. "You mean when I’m dealing with real Masters and slaves?"

"Yes, sir," Blackie said with a small smile. "And I appreciate the distinction. I understand we’re not the real thing. But I’m just wondering how this is handled by – well – in real cases."

Actually the question had occurred to me as well, so I had a ready answer. "Some Masters expect all slaves to address them as master. That certainly happens. But you’re correct in thinking that a lot of Masters will expect slaves to use a different title when they’re owned by somebody else." As I spoke, I realized suddenly why Tom had taken the lead in this discussion. Of all Tiran’s boys, he was the one who actually was owned by somebody else. I’d never heard Tom call Tiran "master" either.

Blackie waited a second before asking, "What term would they use, sir?"

I shrugged thoughtfully. "Usually Master with their first name, I guess. Master Jack."

There was a pause, and I saw some surreptitious glances amongst them; even some hidden smiles. "Master Jack, sir?" Blackie repeated carefully.

And then Rusty spoke up, irrepressibly. "It sounds like a brand of packaged food or something! ‘Master Jack’s Frozen Waffles’! …. Sir," he added hastily, as my stare bored into him.

The others were flinching visibly, and Dusty looked like he was about to smack Rusty upside the head. I wasn’t amused, but at the same time, he had honed right in on the main point. I’d never liked the term ‘Master Jack’, even when I used it. He was right, it did sound like a brand name.

In the pause that lingered, Gabe finally spoke up. "Mr. – sir. I sometimes call Tiran ‘my lord’ as well. I don’t think there’s anything in that to imply … you know, that there could only be one. Perhaps you’d prefer that?"

I awoke from my thoughts. "No," I said firmly. "That’s too romantic for me. I’m not an aristocrat." I made up my mind abruptly. "Mr. Obernikoch is fine. We’ll just stick with that."

There was an immediate ripple of surprise and consternation.

"Sir, we didn’t mean to suggest –" Dusty began anxiously.

"Are you sure?" Gabe breathed, looking at me closely.

"Are you crazy?" Rusty burst out, and again added quickly, "Sir. Sorry sir. But Tiran is going to kill us!"

That was the comment that resonated with everyone. The others cut off their responses and nodded agreement. Dusty said, "Sir – Rusty’s behaviour is inexcusable. But I’m afraid he’s right. For us to call you Mr. Obernikoch now will seem extremely disrespectful to Tiran. To you and him."

I sighed. "But I actually like it better than any of the other options. It’s my call."

"Of course it is, sir," Dusty murmured, and for a minute there was an acquiescent silence.

Then Gabe said almost tearfully, "Sir, we’re very grateful for your direction. But … but please, what will we tell Tiran?"

I looked down at him, and for a moment I felt a spark of something that might be warmth. "It’s okay, Solly," I soothed, half-laughing. "I’ll take care of Ti."

There was a collective breath of relief, and general "thank you, sir"s filled the air.

"Now," I said. "Anything else on that or are we ready to move on to the main event?"

I surveyed the room and saw looks of contentment all around. I even felt a little contented myself.


**********


I couldn’t deny that I was growing comfortable in my role. I was almost enjoying my work with the boys. And yet, although I didn’t spend as much time worrying about it now as I did when I first arrived, I was still no further ahead on my original question, and it continued to haunt me. I still hadn’t figured out what game Rocky and the others were playing – with Tiran, and with me.

I’d started with the assumption that the boys were hypocritical freeloaders, living the high life at Tiran’s expense, and that had been confirmed in some ways – it was pretty clear that they were all financially dependent on him, at least to some extent. And life was pretty good for them. Yet the more I watched the boys interact with Tiran, the more the dom/sub qualities rang true for me. Certainly Tiran had no doubts about his boys; he treated them like subs when he wanted to and fully expected them to behave accordingly, and as far as I could tell, they always did. Could the boys really be fooling Tiran? He seemed to have exactly what he wanted. How could they be playing him, if he was the one getting the pay-off?


I was almost ready to concede that Rocky and the others were the real thing, at least as far as Tiran was concerned. But that still didn’t explain what the hell I was doing there. Why had I been brought in? Why did they all insist on the story that the boys had asked for me, or someone like me? And no matter whose idea it was, why would they go along with it? I could see with my own eyes that Tiran had at least some fondness or affection for his boys and he knew how I treated them. If they complained, why would he stand up for me against them?

Most of all, why would someone in Rocky’s position accept my presence without resistance? What was in it for him? I did my best to make his life hell, and he was closer to Tiran than anyone. Did Rocky choose not use his influence, or did he not have it? If he had it, why wasn’t he using it? What was he waiting for?